


Anne Boleyn's Last Day

by kilt



Category: The Tudors
Genre: Execution, scaffold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kilt/pseuds/kilt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anne's last moments before her execution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anne Boleyn's Last Day

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. The plot is the only aspect of this story that I can name my own.

The crowd is yelling. Yelling at me.  
Their shouts are deafening, but still, I hear my heartbeat.  
Some give me their hand. Some others spit at me.  
They are all so filthy. Their dirty fingers point at me.  
The few children who are present just stare at me in wonder or cry.  
I feel like crying myself, too, but I just don't have any power left. I am exhausted like a corn field after many years of monotonous sowing. My eyes look at every single spectator until I see it.  
Filthy and ugly just like all the people are. The place where I'm going to die.  
My calamity suddenly vanishes as I see the executioner.  
His face covered with a leather cap, he silently nods to me.  
I am looking hastily around for the axe but there isn't any.  
I ascent the last three steps in my whole life. The wooden planks creak when my three servants and I walk past it. The crowd watches every step, every breath I take.  
I say my last words. Suddenly a feeling of eternal sadness covers me and I just can't keep my eyes from crying and I start sobbing.  
Nearly inaudible two of my servants are gasping for air because they are suppressing their sadness, too. Slowly but surely my last minutes of life will end.  
The servants take off my silk coat, my pearl earrings and my pearl necklace.  
I thank every single one for her submissiveness. Nothing will ever touch my ivory skin except the cold steel of the executioner's weapon.  
He asks for his sword. While my royal background comes back to my mind I turn over to the executioner's servant who reaches over to grab his master's sword.

Suddenly I hear a hissing noise and all goes blank.


End file.
